


Red Flags

by fadeverb



Series: Leo [16]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:50:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean has no idea why Trade is so annoyed at him. He should have figured this out by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Flags

The first sign of trouble was when the Mercurian of Trade gave him a dirty look. Sean was used to dirty looks from certain types of people, but...another Mercurian? Really? When he'd walked into the meeting room ready to do business? He slid down into the seat across from her, hastily reviewing Mercurian attunements that might have given her an inconvenient reading on his recent activities. Surely Judgment wasn't handing out its attunements to Traders. Was it?

Besides, Sean didn't feel guilty about anything. Lately. Really. He took a look at the Trader's web of relationships, a surface glance that didn't get him anything useful. "Good afternoon," he said, and tried to project friendliness. Amiability. A willingness to deal, which was why he'd shown up, and generally what these people went for.

"Afternoon," the other Mercurian said flatly. "When I heard someone from War was stopping by, I didn't realize it would be you." She sat back, arms folded across her chest. "What do you want?"

"I want to make a deal for some information, and pay for it with a reasonable exchange of goods," Sean said. He could feel a headache starting to come on. Some days he began to really wonder about his Choir, that with all those relationships laid out in front of their eyes, that knowledge of infinitely layered connections and webs, they could still hold petty grudges based on association. The number of Mercurians who held his service to his Archangel against him never stopped surprising him. But most of the ones who did that didn't work for Trade, most famously neutral of any Word in Heaven.

The other Mercurian shook her head, the beads on her braids clacking against each other. "Not with us, you're not. You go by 'Sean' around here, right? Mercurian of War? _Vassal_ of War, even, so you're the one." She snapped her laptop shut, and stood up. "Try giving your full name when you make the appointment, next time. We can save everyone a lot of wasted time."

"What happened to all that Trade neutrality?" Sean demanded, standing up as she did. "I'm willing to cut a fair deal--"

"No," she said sharply. "You're not, according to our records. Trust but verify, Intercessionist. We're verifying, and it says you aren't worth my time."

"Wait," Sean said, but she stalked away, high heels clicking on the floor, and he still didn't know _why_.

Something was up. And when something was up that Sean couldn't explain, his first guess was enemy interference.

#

"No, we're pretty happy with the security of our file system," said the Malakite, tossing a pencil in the air and catching it. She smiled wolfishly across the desk at Sean. "Thanks for asking. What's the deal?"

"I'm getting weird reactions," Sean said, "and I _know_ I didn't do anything to prompt them. So if you've got someone messing with your information--"

"We outsource to Lightning," the Malakite said, and rolled her eyes. "Actual Kyriotates go hang out in our actual computers and devour any viruses that show up. But if you're all that concerned, I can take a look at your records. Can you give me a name?"

"Sean," he said. "Mercurian of War. It's a Role name, but that's what all of my dealings with Trade should be under." He did not say, _I've been working with you people for two centuries,_ because admittedly a few of those times had gone...not ideally. But all of those problems were in the past, and he'd always made good on debts. Eventually.

"Yeah, I can see the file, it's been tagged as recently reviewed. It looks like..." She fell silent, staring at her computer screen. And then she pointed to the door. "Get out."

"Wait. What?"

"Out."

"If there's something wrong, why won't anyone _tell_ me what's going on?"

The Malakite stood up, and leaned over her desk. "Because you should know," she said. "I can't believe this doesn't even turn up on your honor. That's...low, Sean. Really low. Get the hell out of my office."

" _What_?"

"Out!"

#

The Ofanite shrugged, eyes and hands focused on the video game she held. "It's not my problem, man."

"For the love of God," Sean said, "could you leave off your game for five minutes and go talk to Trade for me?"

"Negatory!" The Ofanite's stylus flew across the screen. "I have a world to save and fifteen minutes left to do it in. Then seven hundred pages of reading to do and two essays to write by tomorrow, so maybe come back next week."

Sean pinched the bridge of his nose. "You were a lot easier to work with before you picked up a Role."

"I'm getting into character. I am feeling the _flow_. Besides, I don't like dealing with Trade. It's all talk, talk, talk when I want to run, fight, sing." The Ofanite waved one hand at Sean. "Grab me a drink from the minifridge, would you?"

"If I get you a drink, will you help me with Trade? I just need someone to walk over and ask them what's on my file that they're all acting like I've sprouted horns."

"Get me a drink," said the Ofanite, "and I'll give you advice." When she had a can of Mountain Dew in her hand, she took a swig, and paused the game. "Okay. When's the last time you dealt with Trade?"

"About thirteen months back," Sean said. "But it's only recently that everyone got all weird at me over there."

"So you must have seen some of them between now and then, right? Even if it wasn't an official deal."

"Yes," Sean said, with a slow, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I run into them once in a while."

"Go back to whoever in Trade you talked to last before everyone got weird," the Ofanite said, "and talk to them." She rolled her eyes at him. "You do remember who that was, don't you?"

"Oh, yes."

"Want to tell me?"

"You're not cleared for that," Sean said. For some reason, a lot of people thought that the news of a humanity-ravaging plague coming that close to being released shouldn't get bandied about.

#

In the end, he tracked down the Tether where he'd first met the Seraph, and walked in without weapons (aside from those he could summon) or excuses (at least for the Malakite who met him at the door). "I just need to talk to Peniel," he said. "I think he's expecting me."

"It's about time," said the Seneschal, and he had a few minutes to contemplate what it meant when an Elohite said that, until the Seraph arrived.

"Penny," Sean said, and offered the Seraph a hand. He wasn't entirely surprised when it wasn't an accepted. As a Warrior, he could appreciate that the Seraph _was_ armed, if so discreetly that most people wouldn't pick up on it. As a Friend of Man, he could appreciate that the Seraph was dressed to the nines, in a suit so perfect it almost made Sean long for an older, more elegant vessel. (Even if the college kid look was more often useful.) As a Mercurian who'd met the Seraph a few times before, he was fascinated to see how the Seraph's own appraisal of what its True Name was had shifted subtly over the last few years.

And as himself, he needed to get this damn file lock cleared before it got in the way of urgent work. Before it made him _less effective_.

The Seraph just looked down his nose at him.

"How about I buy you coffee," Sean said, "and we talk about this?"

"If we mean to talk about this," Penny replied, "I would rather do so in a private place."

"Agreed," Sean said. "We'll get it to go. Come on. Starbucks. That's not too infernal for you, is it?"

The Seraph said, "Their coffee isn't very good." But he didn't say _no_ , and, well, Mercurian. Sean could work with a little edge of agreement. He just needed to get his foot in the door and explain why this was all a silly misunderstanding.

#

The Seneschal had provided a quiet conference room where the two of them could talk. Sean had provided the coffee. And the Seraph, so far, was providing nothing but a steady glare.

"I can see how you might be upset over my reaction, the last time we were in the same room," Sean said. That got no response. He wondered just how much apology he'd need to give before the Seraph would clear his file, and, God, what if it had to be a _sincere_ apology? He wasn't sure he could come up with one. "There were extenuating circumstances, I'd say, but I did jump towards violence faster than necessary."

The Seraph took a sip of coffee (white mocha latte, whipped cream and chocolate drizzle, what sort of coffee was that?) and watched Sean steadily.

"When you asked for my promise," Sean said, "I was telling the truth. You know that. I _want_ to be able to deal with people...fairly. But sometimes there are more important things at play, like, I don't know, the potential destruction of humanity?"

Penny drank his coffee monstrosity and said nothing.

"Besides," Sean said, "haven't I kept to the terms of every contract I've ever signed through Trade? You can look at my files, for the ones I didn't contract with you personally. Not one contract broken in all that time."

"No," Penny said.

"What?" Sean felt he was saying that too often of late. It had been a confusing week, so maybe he had a good damn excuse.

"You broke one contract," Penny said, "seventy-two years ago. According to the records. According to the records, you also had your memory of the incident removed on the authorization of your Archangel. Matters were resolved at higher levels, and the warning flag on your file was removed after twenty years of clean performance."

"Oh," Sean said. He picked up his own coffee (black, thank you very much), and had a swig while he processed that. "I'd apologize for that too, but since I don't remember, it wouldn't sound very convincing."

"You aren't convincing in general," Penny said, "because your convictions are so tied to your mission goals. Whatever you believe in a given moment can be overridden by what seems necessary, and while this seems to make you an effective agent of War, it does not make you a person we want to deal with."

"A man can't change his mind?"

"Sean," said Penny, and he could nearly hear air quotes around the name when the Seraph said it, "your pragmatism for the sake of short-term goals has been wreaking havoc with the long-term plans of other people. While I have a certain degree of sympathy for the poor planning skills and self-centered vision of the very young, you are not very young. You are over two centuries old, and you have a distinction. I would expect better of you. I have expected better of you, and been disappointed. How many more chances do you expect us to give you?"

"The only time I disappoint you," Sean said tightly, "is when you decide to go play with demons. Do you even have permission to do that?"

"Yes," Penny said. "What happened after I passed on Leo's request?"

"For backup? I went out there. I gave some backup." Sean slouched back in his chair, holding his coffee in both hands, and tried to read the Seraph's relationship with the demon. There were too many relationships in Penny's life to get that level of detail without the demon standing right there, and why hadn't he thought to resonate the two of them together the last time he had both of them in the same room? Not to go all Hyena on anyone, but that connection couldn't be a good idea. Something to watch for. But the demon did show up in that web of relationships, if on the edge, a small dark node hooked into nothing else.

"Vague," Penny said, "and incomplete, but technically true."

"You're not cleared for the details, Penny."

"I know what the box was, and what was within it," Penny said. "I know who asked Leo to fetch it, and I know a little of what she wanted from him afterward. I know what was reported on the news about the fire at that school, and the bodies found within. I know more than that, and yet I'm not...cleared for the details. Please. Tell me why you think the resolution needs to be concealed from me."

The headache was definitely back. Sean drank his coffee, and hoped that would help. "I showed up. I gave him backup. We took care of the problem. Then he left."

"You let him go?"

"Yeah, why, do you think--" Sean stopped. "Oh. You haven't heard from him since, have you." He watched the way the corners of the Seraph's eyes tightened. No one but Seraphim could read the Truth, but even a Mercurian could get a lot of truth out of watching faces. "And after I promised not to hassle him, and you told me to go find him, he just...dropped out of sight. So you're thinking that I did something. Because I'm the sort of person who would."

"You are," Penny said.

"I am," Sean admitted, in full cheer. "No denying it. Though I wouldn't kill him if I had a decent chance of dragging him off to a Tether instead. That sneaky little weasel knows far too much that I want to know to do anything to him without an interrogation and assessment by a professional in these sorts of things. Which I am not! Identifying Redemption material isn't my area of expertise. Is it yours?"

Penny hesitated for a moment before answering, which was always an interesting reaction in a Seraph. "I am not assigned to such duties in any official capacity." Oh, and what careful wording that was.

"Well. He had a Prince incoming, and suggested I might not want to be there to have that chat with him. Her, I guess. She's still in that adorable redhead vessel, isn't she?" Which reminded Sean in odd ways of one of his sisters, now and again. "So if you're looking for reasons to think she's still good Ofanite material, there's that. But maybe she just didn't want me there when her Prince showed, full of inconvenient information about how much she's been playing with the angels."

"I don't see that those two possibilities are mutually exclusive," Penny said.

"No," Sean said. "I guess not." He swallowed down more coffee. "How the hell did you get my entire file flagged? Do you even have that authority?"

"I _am_ a Seraph," Penny said. "When I give my informed opinion that an angel is not worthy of our trust for future dealings, based on recent data, they believe me."

"Do you still believe that?"

"I'm not sure."

"If you still believe that, or if I'm trustworthy?"

"Both," Penny said, with admirable Seraphic precision. "You break your word, time and again."

"And I bet you run away from some fights," Sean said, "but you don't see me calling you on that, because it's none of my business."

"Unless I wanted to ask favors of War."

They eyed each other across the table. Beverages were finished. Sean wished, once more, for the beautiful simplicity of demons to shoot. He was good at shooting demons. It was very straightforward.

"Take off the flag," Sean said, "and--I'll find a way to pay you for that. Okay? That's fair."

"Can you find her again?"

Sean frowned into his empty cup. "That's not the sort of thing I meant to deal with. How do you feel about some nice shiny cash?"

"I could ask you to promise all sorts of things," Penny said. "To tell me if you encountered her again, or to not kill her without giving me a chance to intervene. You might even make those promises, and mean them. But you wouldn't keep them if you had a mission to complete and those promises would stand in the way. Am I wrong?"

"No," Sean said. "You're not wrong."

"So we will deal with concrete objects, rather than hypothetical future events. Give me the means you have of finding her, and your file will be marked back to mere caution, as it was when you broke a contract before."

"I don't know if I can," Sean said. "I mean. That's not for me to authorize."

Penny spread his hands. "I am," he said, "very patient."

And the Seraph said it, so it damn well must have been true.


End file.
